Hania Rani requires absolute focus when at station. Dimly lit in a semi-circle of synthesizers, grand piano, upright piano, and samplers, she’s a one-person orchestra constantly staying on schedule. To listen to Rani is to go in and out of focus of the layers of prerecorded, looped, and live productions. You can take it all in, or try to discern as many as 5-6 element in one piece. It’s a bit like listening to someone knit music. Can you see it with your ears?
Starting with the majestically dense “24.03”, Rani kept her back to the audience as she swiveled on her piano bench from instrument to instrument. The bassy synth repeats a 1-5-1 pattern and churns like a train willing to leave it’s conductor behind – but she’s at ease with keeping time and minding the components. You’d assume she would be calm in a storm, or barely aware it was happening. It’s psychedelic and industrial at the same time, an evolution of the original recording.
Five songs pass before she takes a breath to acknowledge the audience. She’s been in a trance, bopping, and reaching for the air while singing. And the audience had no consensus on how to react at a rock venue with a maestro. Should they applaud? It felt like everyone was holding their breath, hands inches from a clap. Were we at a classical show that held applause until the end of movements? Well, that’s what Philadelphia did.
After embracing her first round of applause and greeting the crowd, she admitted to having no funny anecdote for the day, and didn’t want to pretend. The audience laughed at her earnestness, and she retreated to her instruments again, more in the dark than alight.
As is typical of Polish people, she’s humble too, claiming to be an aspiring singer – but confidently executing the role without sacrificing her immense sound in the 2023 album Ghosts. After long admiring composer Ólafur Arnalds, she worked with him on the song “Whispering House”. And if the career momentum is of any indication, they seem to be on a similar trajectory: able to draw an audience and tour the world, and produce notable scores for film and TV.
Her monster sound typically starts with one repeated idea, adding tones and accents that can range from cold and metallic, dulled and comfortable, to phantom sounds you think you’re hearing in the background. The idea of emotive repetition has been seen in similar company like Arnauds, Jóhann Jóhannsson, Ulrich Schnauss, Tim Hecker, and even in tracks like “Don’t Break My Heart”, Rani is recalling a meditative James Blake. “Hello” could be a Zero 7 song from The Garden. But Rani manages to feel unformulaic and without boundary. How long will she stay in the dark?
